


Illicit Dalliance

by Living_On_My_Own



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Arguing, Birthday Presents, Denial of Feelings, Freddie is just confused, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Roger is kinda an asshole, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_On_My_Own/pseuds/Living_On_My_Own
Summary: Freddie feels things, things he’s never felt for Roger, things he’s not supposed to feel.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Illicit Dalliance

“Hum, what’s that, Fred?” 

“It’s called lingerie, Roger. I figured you’d like it if I wore it when we have sex,” Freddie answers, surprised Roger doesn’t get it, he  _ always _ talks about how he likes lingerie on girls. Freddie’s not a girl, but it’s almost the same. 

Roger could at least look  _ grateful _ , Freddie had to look in his porn magazines to figure out what he could like. 

“And for what occasion did you buy it?” Roger asks, like it’s not fucking obvious. Is he just acting dumb or what?

“It’s your birthday, idiot.”

Roger looks even more confused, oh god is he fucking drunk?

“My birthday was more than a week ago,” Roger responds.

It’s his birthday, Freddie’s  _ sure  _ of it. He noted it! He planned his gift weeks ago, making sure it was ready for now, not for a week before. He had to force it out of Roger to know the dat—

_ Oh no. _

It’s not Roger’s birthday. Of fucking course it’s not. It’s  _ David’s  _ birthday, the birthday of his first ex boyfriend, he should already have forgotten it, but instead he mixed it up with Roger’s. God, why does he ever wonder why his relationships fail? He can’t even remember the date of their birthdays. 

“Oh, nevermind Rog, I probably got it mixed up with someone else or something,” he explains, laughing nervously, he’s a terrible liar and he knows it. 

“Whose birthday is it today?”

“I don’t know, Roger! I would be wishing  _ them _ happy birthday if I knew!”

Roger rolls his eyes, he knows his best friend, he can’t lie for his life. 

“Whose birthday is it?” He asks again, annoyed. Why would he hide something so stupid?

“It’s David’s! Are you happy now?”

Roger scoffs, like it’s the worst thing he’s heard, and he replies, clearly angry, “Which one is that? Is it the one who dumped you or the one who cheated on you? Or is it the one who fucked you then figured out it wasn’t as exciting as it seems?”

It doesn’t fucking hurt. It doesn’t. Why would it? It happened, yes, but Freddie’s long been over them, it doesn’t hurt, he’s not hurt. He’s just confused, as why Roger is acting so fucking insanely. He’s angry, angry because how dare he bring up those things and blow everything out of proportion?

“Stop acting like a fucking asshole, at least I fucking remember their names,” he answers, hands on his hips, he can be as snappy as Roger is. 

“It doesn’t matter  _ anyway. _ ” It kinda does, but Freddie won’t say it. “It’s not like we’re fucking  _ boyfriends. _ ”

They’re not, of course they’re not. They would never be. But Roger says it with such anger, he sounds as if it’s the worst that could happen to him, like only the thought of being with Freddie makes him want to gag. 

Freddie’s just not used to this kind of relationship, or more lack of relationship. He’s not used to only having the sex, without the rest, without what usually comes with the relationship. It’s not like they don’t cuddle or aren’t affectionate at all (to be honest, even that is something Freddie isn’t much used to, it was never something that was part of it when he had boyfriends), they're best friends, they’ve always been affectionate. There’s something, something Freddie can’t put the finger on, something different with Roger than what there was with boyfriends. 

It’s not like he wants to be with Roger, they wouldn’t be good to each other, they would destroy each other in the end. Roger wouldn’t be able to handle Freddie’s everlasting insecurities and drama. He wouldn’t be able to stop being with girls. He’s never even openly said he’s gay. Freddie’s doesn’t want to assume. He doesn’t want to be with Roger anyway. 

“Sound even more disgusted when you say it, darling,” he retorts, not hurt, no, angry. Just angry. 

“Freddie—” Roger tries to talk, as if he’s gonna apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for, they  _ aren’t  _ boyfriends. He’s just stating the truth. 

Freddie walks past him, shoving the lingerie with his hand on Roger’s chest. “Give this to your girlfriend,” he says, ignoring Roger’s sigh, slamming the door of his bedroom shut when he’s in it. Thank god they don’t share a room too. 

  
  
  


Roger apologizes, of course he does, he always comes running back, like a puppy, apologising, at least when he realises he’s been stupid. Freddie didn’t say much, he apologised back for what he said, though it’s not like he said untrue things. He’s not sure what Roger did with the underwear. 

They’re not even angry with each other anymore, there’s no reason to be, there’s not even a reason why anything should be awkward. But it feels different, for Freddie at least, it’s always like that with him, he knows it, he always feels too much, always thinks too much. He’s been reproached for that before, quite often. 

He doesn’t enjoy the sex much anymore, doesn’t even make an effort to make it good. He doesn’t feel like having Roger fuck him anymore. He lets Roger do his thing, enjoy himself, come, then fall asleep for a little while, just enough time so Freddie can slip out of bed and go to the kitchen, just to stand, wondering what the fuck’s wrong with him. Or to go to his piano and play the same fucking note over and over again, numbing his head even further. 

Roger sometimes lets his hands wander, ready to please Freddie back, but Freddie bats his hands away. He’s not sure why, but something in his head yells at him not to let Roger touch him. He’s had this voice in his head before, but never this loud, and never with Roger. There’s definitely something wrong with him, something wrong with his mind. 

Roger doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong. 

Sometimes he doesn’t even allow Roger to do anything, he pretexts a headache, or exhaustion, or just not being in the mood. He looks at him with a smile, jokes about Roger being so desperate, or addicted to him, it does the job. Roger doesn’t insist. 

He misses his best friend, misses what used to come, other than sex, misses the nights getting drunk, talking about whatever the fuck is going through their minds. Nights where he doesn’t have to force himself to be anyone, doesn’t have to force himself to be a certain way. He misses nights where he doesn’t feel like he owes Roger a bit of sex, for ranting about some stupid thing or for talking way too much about how deeply he feels, about how much of a disaster he sometimes thinks his life is. 

It seems that all Roger thinks about is sex, not even making sure it’s not going tits up between them. 

He just doesn’t want this thing they’re doing to ruin their friendship. 

It’s already noon, Roger and he were getting busy the night before. Roger had fallen asleep quickly, still with the arm stretched out, his hand laying on Freddie’s chest. Freddie had to be careful not to wake him up when he got up. He left the bed when his chest started feeling tight, when he felt he wanted more than all this— No. He doesn’t want more. He’s just being his usual self, too demanding for what he can actually get, for what he actually deserves. And it’s stupid, because he refuses to let Roger touch him and yet, when Roger doesn’t, he wishes he did. But not in the same way. 

He’s been in the kitchen for a while, nervously waiting, waiting for nothing precisely, just after being on the piano bench, lost in no particular thought. 

_ Roger _

_ Roger  _

_ Roger _

His heart is beating quickly, loudly, for no reason, there’s no reason it should be! It’s probably just anxiety, at seeing Roger, at looking at Roger after what happened the night before. He always doesn’t know how to act after they have sex, he doesn’t want to be too affectionate, they’re not boyfriends, Roger said it. But sometimes Roger acts affectionate towards him anyway. This is stressing him out too much, his heart doesn’t want to fucking behave. 

His thoughts are interrupted when arms wrap around his waist, just like he sometimes wishes, during the darkest or loneliest nights, that someone would hold him. He hasn’t seen Roger coming, his back to the door while he looked blankly at the hot water boiling for his tea (the only thing he can actually cook, if it’s considered cooking). He turns around and walks away from Roger’s arms, awkwardly, it makes him feel things he doesn’t want to feel, doesn’t even want to think about feeling. 

Roger doesn’t say anything, just watches Freddie make the cups of tea and give him his, before walking away to the living room, without a word. 

  
  
  


“It’s been a while you know, we haven’t had sex much these days, Fred. And I’m real fucking horny.” 

Roger looks like he hasn’t touched anyone in years. He lays his hand on Freddie’s thigh, clearly reaching for something else, slowly. He’s been asking often recently, just walking away when Freddie declines, probably to go wank or something. But it still didn’t make Freddie feel wonderful, Roger barely talked to him about anything else. 

“I’m not in the mood, Roger,” Freddie replies, swatting his hand away. He sits a bit further away from Roger on the bed, but Roger leans in closer to him. He can’t take this anymore. 

“Come on, Freddie, it’s been so long, I’ll make you see fucking sta—”

“Am I only a fucking fleshlight toy to you?!”

Roger looks annoyed, like he’s the one who should be. He clenches his jaw, Freddie can almost predict what he’s gonna say: ‘Don’t be so fucking dramatic, Freddie.’

“What’s your fucking problem? You weren’t so frigid two weeks ago, begging me to fuck you!” he yells, it’s not exactly what Freddie predicted, somehow, it’s worse. 

It takes Freddie everything to not let this get to him, he feels like exploding, like yelling at Roger that he doesn’t get it, that he’s just so fucking lost in his head and that he just wants Roger to let him be for a while, but instead in breathes in and out, and answers, it’s not really better than what he thought of saying originally. 

“Well two weeks ago you didn’t act like a fucking asshole!” He pushes Roger away by the shoulders when he sees how close he is. He didn’t mean to yell  _ that _ loud, but Roger doesn’t seem to get it. He doesn’t seem to want to understand. 

It takes him a while for his angry breathing to calm down, for his shoulders to stop being so tense. He’s surprised when Roger talks, softly, laying a gentle hand on Freddie’s leg, with no dirty thoughts at the back of the mind. 

“I really think we need to talk, Freddie,” Roger states, looking up at Freddie, honestly. 

Freddie doesn’t understand why he says what he does, where it comes from, how he ever came to this conclusion, even if it makes sense and solves all the questions he had and didn’t seem to have a good answer for: 

“What is there to talk about? I love you!”

Roger looks shocked, just as much as Freddie is. Freddie looks away when he sees his expression. Fuck, he should have known this would end badly, he should have known it would ruin everything. His fucking feelings always ruin everything. 

“For fuck’s sake, Fred, we said we wouldn’t involve our feelings!”

Freddie gets the urge to just throw something at him, whatever the fuck it is. He’s so fucking angry (mostly at himself, but it always feels better to blame it on someone else). There’s nothing to throw around him, so he throws a pillow, it frustrates him even more when it hits Roger with no sound. 

“Oh yeah, you can act like my fucking boyfriend but I’m supposed to have no feelings for you, that’s it! So you can throw me away when you get a better fucking offer, is that it? You can’t be fucked to put the work in, you just want to get your leg over with someone who’ll let you fuck him over?”

“It was your idea! You’re the one who almost fucking begged me to agree to do this! I told you it was a bad idea, that it certainly would end badly, but you didn’t listen to me!”

“Well I thought you might love me back!”

Roger’s face softens and he leans in again with his hand, he had removed it when he got too angry. “Freddie,” he whispers, and it makes Freddie feel terrible. He doesn’t want pity. 

“No, I know now, what we do doesn’t mean anything.” It hurts to say it, even if he’s known it for so long. “But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to spread my legs whenever you fucking want anymore.”

“Well, we could- you know, go and have a drink together?” Roger says, hesitantly. 

Freddie rolls his eyes, Roger’s being stupid. 

“We always go get drinks together, Roger,” he answers. 

Roger frowns, confused, before seeming to come to a realisation. He comes to sit closer to Freddie, softly taking his hand, nervously too. He’s not used to this with Freddie, not used to looking at him this way, like more than his best friend. 

“On a date, I mean,” Roger clarifies, smiling at Freddie’s surprised face. 

“W-we don’t have to do that, I don’t want you t-to do this just because you feel bad or something. It’s not—”

He fiddles with the loose threads of his pants, ducking his head nervously while talking. Roger can see through his hair the red tint of his cheeks. He lifts up his head to kiss him, interrupting his rant. 

“I want to,” he answers, without a doubt. 

  
  
  


It shouldn’t feel like it’s something so big, they’re just going to take a drink. Roger’s not sure what more could happen than what happened between before, besides the change of feelings. He’s still strangely nervous. 

Freddie spent at least an hour beating himself up for everything, his outfit, his makeup, his hair, and oh god, nothing new, his teeth. He’s never been so nervous. It’s just Roger, they went to go have drinks together so many times he can’t count. But it’s not the same, is it? Now Roger knows, he knows about the feelings he, himself, didn’t know much about a few weeks ago. And maybe he’ll act differently now? Maybe he’ll make an effort to try and like him back. But that’s not what Freddie wants, he doesn’t just want Roger to force himself to like him. He wants him to truly like him, to  _ love _ him. 

He knows he’s asking for a lot. They’d promised there wouldn’t be any feelings involved, and now Freddie’s wishing for Roger to love him back. If he could be in love with him, he’d already have been long ago. It’ll hurt to feel Roger’s silent rejection, but at least he’s prepared for it. Maybe it’ll cushion the shock, make it a bit more bearable. Or maybe it’ll do nothing and will hurt anyway. It’s probably more realistic. 

When they walk to the bar, Roger seems to decide to hold his hand. Freddie’s a disaster. He can feel his hand sweat, he hums distractedly to whatever the fuck Roger is talking about, he feels tense, everywhere. It’s not like he’s never held hands before, but it’s different, it’s  _ Roger.  _

Roger buys the first drinks, he’s probably used to it, since he’s  _ never _ been with a man. It takes a while for any of them to say anything. Freddie’s definitely not gonna be the first one to talk, he can’t say two consecutive words. 

“You look good,” Roger says, making Freddie turn his head quickly. Him? He’s not talking about some girl behind him? His face feels hotter and hotter by the second before he looks up at Roger. 

“Thank you,” he whispers shyly. 

Somehow, they start a conversation and Freddie’s able to talk without tripping on his words every two seconds. 

Then there’s a kiss, they’ve kissed before, but this, this feels different. It feels electric, hopefully it feels like that for Roger too. 

  
  
  


It’s like there’s a click in Roger’s head. Maybe it’s watching Freddie enjoying himself, singing and prancing on stage, laughing at his own antics he says to the crowd, playing with the short curls of his newly cut hair with his fingers, dressed in a shiny and ridiculously tight leotard. Then Freddie joking around with Brian backstage, letting John know how incredible he’s been tonight, looking at him shyly from the corner of his eye, smiling with his lips tightly closed, like they’ve never met each other. 

It takes Roger everything not to jump on him, just to— just to hold him close. 

Somehow, they find themselves together in Freddie’s hotel room, he’s still dressed in his leotard. Roger removes his leather jacket from Freddie’s shoulders. Then takes him by the waist, firmly enough to be able to move him around all he wants, gently enough to be loving. He lets Freddie lay on the bed, not breaking eye contact. 

When he’s well placed, comfortable, it’s Roger who sits on the bed, between Freddie’s legs. It’s like Freddie expects, knows what’s gonna happen, but he doesn’t. Roger peels off the outfit, it’s so tight it’s like he’s removing Freddie’s other skin. Freddie’s actual skin is warm and Roger can’t help but lay his hand on his chest, just for a few seconds. He doesn’t remove the leotard from Freddie’s legs, he leaves it there. 

“What are you waiting for?” Freddie asks, slightly impatient. 

But Roger shakes his head and the words get out of his mouth, like they were always meant to be said, like they were always there, but just repressed, not understood yet. 

“I love you so much,” Roger declares, like it’s obvious, like it’s no surprise. He watches as Freddie’s mouth opens in shock, as his eyes widen. Roger sits even closer to him, closes his mouth and kisses his lips with such conviction it makes them both dizzy. 

“Fuck, I love you, Freddie,” he whispers this time and Freddie closes the space between them with a tight hug, he grips onto Roger like it’s a question of life or death. Maybe it is, if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t feel so strongly, wouldn’t feel like his heart is gonna explode at any moment. He can’t believe it, he can’t even form words. He still forces himself to speak up, because it would be stupid not to. 

“I love you too,” he declares, Roger knows it, but he still likes hearing it. 

It takes a while for Freddie to regain any of his senses, to come over the shock of it all. It helps that Roger keeps kissing him either some place of the face or in his neck. “You know, I think I’d like you to wear that lingerie,” Roger says, out of the blue. It has them both laughing. 

  
  
  


Freddie does wear the lingerie one night, to please Roger, but it doesn’t last long, especially since Roger tears it with his hands with excitation. Freddie doesn’t mind, even if he yelped when it happened. Roger loves him back and it’s really all that matters after all. 


End file.
